


Got These Burdens Under My Wings( But I’m Still Free)

by Aurora Cee (SC182)



Series: We Living No Limits [1]
Category: Spartacus Series (TV), Spartacus: War of the Damned
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bikers, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Canon Character of Color, Canon Gay Character, Canon Rewrite, Hurt/Comfort, Multi, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-17
Updated: 2014-01-17
Packaged: 2018-01-08 23:53:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,595
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1138963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SC182/pseuds/Aurora%20Cee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This was their life and the sacrifices that they made to preserve it. </p><p>War of The Damned/ Sons of Anarchy/Biker fusion AU</p>
            </blockquote>





	Got These Burdens Under My Wings( But I’m Still Free)

**Author's Note:**

> **Disclaimer** : I do not own any of the characters herein. 
> 
> A/N: This Modern AU will merge events of Spartacus: War of The Damned with many of the overarching plot points of Sons of Anarchy. So as it stands, there will eventually be sex, blood, violence, angst, and high levels of badassery. So nothing new for Spartacus or SOA fans. 
> 
> Title from Dido featuring Kendrick Lamarr's "[Let's Move On](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NnrswAX5qFo)".

Nasir hated his nervous habit. It was a small quirk that most people didn’t notice even if they took the time to watch him. He chewed the corner of his lip despite the nagging sting and pulled off when he tasted the harsh brine of iron on his tongue.

Nasir scanned the room, taking in the series of plate glass windows lining an interior corridor leading to parts unknown. To his left, actual windows partitioned the wall, allowing hazy sunshine to filter through the bars and glass.  It was the type of weather he would expect on a day like this which reflected how tumultuous his gut felt that day.

The clock placed high in the center of the back wall was a solid black box with no nonsense red digital numbers that offered no relief or suggestion of how many seconds lied between him and Agron.

Two minutes until noon, it read.

He hadn’t taken the time to count the tables that filled the space of the room, though Nasir could easily say there was an even ratio of circular to square ones. Just a thing he’d come to notice as he tried to occupy his thoughts. Each apparently bolted to the floor which he learned when he’d bumped his shin against a cold steel leg. Some of the other people waiting around the room were faces he’d come to know from his various trips to the visitors’ line. Unlike before, this time, Nasir had made it beyond the external doors because the bored desk clerk had read his name from the list.

There were kids running beneath tables and between the legs of chairs as mothers and grandmothers and other adults scolded them with hissed threats of spankings in vacant corners or in the center of the room. The sight made Nasir crack a smile. A very small one.

His thumb nail traced the rim of the kitschy red tin he’d brought with him. He’d read the rules regarding what goods he could bring inside and knew mostly from conversation in the waiting line that the level of enforcement of said rules depended on who was working the processing door that day. He’d been lucky to lose only a couple of cookies and blueberry bars to Sgt. Hector who’d given him a smirk that had unsettled Nasir before he’d crossed the threshold to enter the visiting room.

It had been three months, twenty-four days, and a handful of hours since Nasir had last seen Agron, though their distance wasn’t for Nasir’s lack of trying. They’d talked over the phone and had exchanged enough letters to fill two ratty shoeboxes. Some which were just a few series of lines in Agron’s small slanted print. Nasir had memorized them like they were the most elegant compositions of poetic verse, and not a short note saying that Agron was thinking about him and Duro and his eternal wish to be home.

One minute til, the clock now read. 

And Nasir failed to suppress his shallow thoughts, hoping that he looked okay, that Agron didn’t notice the dark circles under his eyes. It was hard trying to sleep without him and stretching himself in so many directions didn’t help, not that Nasir would complain. He did what he did for their family, because without them, he would be back to where he’d been before—alone.

A hack who was barrel-chested and broad-jawed like a bulldog stepped aside, unblocking the interior door then another guard called forward a diverse line of men in khaki suits with the black stenciled letters _DOC_ inked across the back like a damning tattoo.

He wondered again if he looked alright. He’d chosen to cut his hair when he’d been mired in one of those rare moods where being overwhelmed felt like drowning and the energy to cry couldn’t be spared. To have something, just one thing within his control would make all the difference. Taking a few inches off until his hair, so that now it only crested the top of his shoulders, had gotten him a few curious looks from Spartacus and Chadara, teasing from Saxa and Lugo, and shallow inquiries from Duro and Belesa. He’d only regretted making Duro worry and labor through asking the ponderous question of if he was okay. Truthfully, Nasir hadn’t been at the time, but Duro didn’t need to know that.

Nasir ran a quick hand over his thin t-shirt and buttoned up sweater and down the front of his jeans to palm the curve of his knees. There were other families standing and hugging, kissing their loved ones that they hadn’t seen in some time. Nasir wouldn’t be distracted now, not when he could finally see Agron again.

But the man waving at him coming through the door wearing a bright grin wasn’t Agron; it was Donar. Nasir smiled back just as brightly with his arms open to receive the hug Donar was so intent on giving him.

“You’re a sight for sore eyes, Pixie.” Donar laughed while squeezing Nasir tight.

Nasir only continued to grin, didn’t even roll his eyes at Donar’s terrible nickname for him or feel the smallest twinge at being hugged too tightly. He was relieved to see the man who looked so different without his other signature uniform of his black cut and stiff-creased jeans.

“You’re a sight, too. You look…,” Nasir took him in from head to toe as Donar held him at arm’s length. “--bigger.” Nasir says.

“Not much to do in ‘ere, so I figured I’d stay busy, ya know, pump some iron and put these pups to shame.”Donar nodded, enthusiastically. His smile narrowing into a smug smirk. “It was either this, read, or take up religion. And you know me,” His teeth sliced into a shark’s grin. “I’ve never been one to forgive and forget, ‘less it’s a brother, so yeah, there’s that and had to find a way or two to keep myself busy. No matter what this place sucks a big one.”

“Too right,” Nasir agreed as he was wrapped up again.

He’d missed Donar truly and had looked forward to seeing him today. Donar was big bear of a man, easy with giving affection to those that he considered worthy like his brothers and an absolute shit to anyone who crossed him.

Pixie was one of his more affectionate ways that Nasir had come to learn and accept which he did gladly, knowing just how close Donar placed him to heart. Nasir would give anything for Agron not to be here or Donar or Briticus or Rhaskos or Aker. But the fact remained that they were on lock down together and Nasir was relieved to know that brothers were watching Agron’s back.

“Is he…” Nasir trailed off, breath catching as the line through the door began to slow down. “You convinced him to come, right?”

He felt Donar bob his head. “Yeah, he wasn’t too far behind me. Just being a big shit, cuz he’s Agron.” Donar chuckled.

Nasir narrowed his eyes in a half-hearted scowl which only made Donar laugh harder. He wasn’t mad—not really, because being playfully snide was Donar’s way; a part of him like his unflinching loyalty to the Brotherhood that never wavered.

When Nasir pulled away from Donar, his eyes swept back to the door and watched the stream of men continue to fill the room. Then he finally saw him and Nasir swallowed hard and lost his breath until Agron passed through the doorway.

Agron stopped short of him when his eyes landed on him inside the sea of tables. They stared at each other, taking in the changes that three—almost four months—had brought.

Like Donar, Agron looked bigger, broader in the shoulders than Nasir remembered and taller, too, though he knew that hadn’t changed. Agron looked washed out in the khaki and uncomfortable as sections bunched tightly around his shoulders, arms, and down through his thighs. And Agron watched him in return, his eyes sliding from head to toe and back until his eyebrows –still smooth and straight in the shadows of splotched yellow and green bruises—rose as he registered Nasir’s hair.

Agron sliced through the remaining distance easily with his long limbed prowl, an action that Nasir had committed to memory early when they’d first come together and now dreamed of alone in their bed. Now Agron loomed over him, his head already dipped low for Nasir to connect their lips as they’d done thousands of times before and it would be so simple to just follow through to get another taste of Agron, his man, too long away from his arms. But Nasir had some stores of self-restraint left and settled for Agron drawing him close and burying his face in Agron’s chest but for a few meager seconds.

For however long it would be, Agron had to stay here and Nasir couldn’t risk him being hurt because Nasir couldn’t hold back. It was a testament to how well they knew each other when Agron looked down at him and nodded stiffly, accepting this was all he could have at the moment, though it was truly not what he wanted.

He flashed his dimples as he took in Nasir’s hair and made an abortive attempt to touch the shorn edges. “You cut your hair.” Agron announced with a small smile. “I like it.”

Nasir stared at his face. “And you’re still making friends,” pointing to the patchwork of bruises dotting Agron’s face. “I hope you played nice.”

Donar snorted beside them and gave Agron a hard bump in the shoulder. “Yeah, still making friends with his sterling personality. A regular Mr. Congeniality of Gen Pop, my boy Agron is.” His grin only grew broader in the face of Agron’s withering glare. “What? Don’t get mad with me. It’s either friends, foes, or fans. That’s all you’ve got in here.”

“Fuck off, Doughboy, ‘s not like I’m fallin’ over myself to play Double Dutch with these scuzz buckets.”

Nasir could’ve kissed him, suddenly reassured that this place and all that had happened hadn’t changed who Agron fundamentally was. His inimitable sarcasm being one of those unchanged traits. Nasir felt flooded with relief that some things were absolutely immutable.

Another thing about Agron which gave Nasir equal fits and turns to smother him in kisses was extremely protective nature. Protective of Duro, Nasir, Spartacus, and his club. He zeroed in on Nasir’s face, particularly his eyes, and didn’t hesitant to dredge up what was happening with Nasir. “Lookin’ good but tired. You okay?”

“I’m good, Agron. You don’t need to worry about me. I’m worried more about _your face_ ,” Nasir teased gently, the kind of tease that naturally transitioned to flirting and getting friction burns from oiled leather. “I might lose more sleep if I have to think that you forgot how to duck.”

Agron tipped his head and looked away at the windows for a second but ultimately back to the magnetic pull of Nasir. “I had to let them get a’couple licks in to save their self-esteem.” Then he digressed. “But are you?”

“Am I what?” Nasir questioned, somewhat confused.

“Losing sleep over me?” Agron asked quietly and suddenly sober.

Nasir didn’t bite back his sigh.

His man was not gentle. He wasn’t what anyone outside of their lives of rough road, broken cages, and hard free living would call a good man. But he was Nasir’s. Every long inch of heavily muscled, scarred flesh, fingers stained by engine oil and cigarette tar, faded tattoos of brotherhood and traditions of his name and his love for Nasir were all parts of this man that Nasir loved. 

Nasir shook his head— _no_ —he lied. Nasir had lost sleep for many reasons; Agron highest among them but not the only reason and until Agron and the rest were out and Naevia would talk to him again like she used to. Until then, yes, Nasir would continue to lose sleep.

The moment broke when they settled themselves at the table; Agron and Donar on one side with Nasir on the other.

He pushed the red tin across the table. “C’mon, I didn’t come empty-handed, even if I did lose a few of the goods to the search.” He flicked his eyes at the Sgt. Hector who held his gaze as he snacked on one of the lemon bars with far too much smug satisfaction.

“Hardnosed fucks,” Donar sneered. “Hope he chokes on it.”

Agron followed Nasir’s gaze, his shoulders stiffening into a hard line that Nasir had come to associate like ozone in the air as the precursor to a booming thunder and a lightning strike.

“Agron,” he warned, his voice hard edged and dark. It snapped Agron’s attention back like a steel chain, and they locked gazes. The warning there evident— _please don’t_.

Donar whipped the tin lid off and began to dive into the layers of protective wax paper. “Pixie, you can visit anytime if you’re going to bring care packages.”

His anger was still too close to the surface but Agron managed to reel it in a fraction and turned his attention to the goods. “Lemme see.” His dimples pierced his cheeks as he smiled. “Blueberry bars, really?” They were always able to cheer Agron up, either that or cold beer.

“Yeah,” Nasir confirmed.

Donar handed over the blueberry treats and snagged the rest of the tin for himself. “Pixie baked for you, Bro. That’s love.” He gave Agron a sharp elbow in the side. “ I still don’t get what you see in this bastard, but, okay, everyone’s gotta have one, right? But if it doesn’t work out and you’re willing to bake for me…” Donar waggled his eyebrows suggestively and winked in Nasir’s direction, making the intent of his proposal overwhelmingly clear.

“Like hell, Old Man.” Agron griped, a swell of possessiveness strong in his voice.

Nasir began, “I’ll keep that in mind Donar,” Nasir teased. “Keep digging, I snagged a few of Camila’s fresh lemon bars and cookies before I came up and made the blueberry ones myself.” He’d hoped that they would be his lucky charm, making this the day when Agron finally agreed to see him. If not directly, then Donar would’ve have passed them on after their visit. “Figured there would be enough for you and the others.” Donar confirmed Nasir’s calculation with tilt of his stuffed cheeks.  “And these too are for you guys.” Added Nasir as he slid over the sets of phone cards.

Nasir tapped Donar’s set of phone cards. “Chadara’s told me to tell that if you give her a call, she might answer.” The on-again-off-again thing between Chadara, Donar, and Rhaskos was a subject of much entertainment for the Brotherhood. “And if not, tell Rhaskos there’s only one _l_ in _eternally yours_.”

Donar rolled his eyes, “Right,” he answered, flatly.

Where Donar played hot and cold with Chadara, Rhaskos was all big declarations and poorly spelled shows of affection like Crixus. Nasir shuddered at the thought but remembered that Crixus had been the one to stop Rhaskos from inking Chadara’s name down the interior of his left bicep. Not that the gesture would’ve endeared her more to the idea of being his old lady exclusively.

“Simple fuck,” Agron sneered, then laughed. His fingers busy breaking off a corner of one of his blueberry bars to savor it proprietarily. “They’re good, Babe.”

Nasir beamed back at him. “Good, I’m glad.”

Donar paused before he could shove another lemon bar into his mouth. “Tell the truth, Pixie, did Chadara make these lemon bars?” It was obvious that he wanted to continue enjoying a taste of home but knowing Chadara as he did he knew to tread carefully. “I won’t be disappointed if you say yes.” Though he already looked disappointed.

Agron doubled over laughing even harder, hands cupped covetously around his pile of blueberry bars. “God, that time with the pie, man,” Agron crowed, “You were off your head worse than that rally in Reno with the bad Tequila. I warned you. Mira warned you. Nasir warned you about pissing Chadara off.”

Donar loved his freedom, whether it was on his bike or while wading through a stream of women, he didn’t like to be tied down. Apparently, he never shared his philosophy with Chadara who after a couple of weeks together thought she was getting an Agron and Nasir or Crixus and Naevia-type deal which would mean forever and always.

Clearly, the message hadn’t been received and then Chadara hotly embarrassed and feeling super scorned made it her mission to pay Donar back. So what was a little food poisoning between ex-lovers?

Reconciling that if Chadara was vengeful when she made these then he could end up more embarrassed than that one ride down to Lodi, Donar weighed the consequences and went back to feasting. “Next time she offers to cook or bake or make anything with food, I’ll ask if her secret ingredient is actually diesel. That way, I’ll know to expect the fire shooting outta my ass.” Surprisingly, the food poisoning hadn’t deterred their hook-ups, just made their occurrences more memorable.

Chadara, like Nasir, found herself swinging more shifts at Camila’s diner these days. It was their fallback, their safe place that was the closest thing to a real home that any one of them that flocked under Camila’s wing had. Still close enough to the compound to be within the orbit of the Brotherhood but distant enough to not be haunted by the horrors of their recent past. Ghosts that also haunted Nasir’s dreams most nights.

Sura.

Varro.

Oenomaus.

Duro.

Mira.

Crixus.

“I think she’s actually missing you… all of you guys,” _Because we all are_ , Nasir didn’t say aloud but paused instead to catch Agron’s eye. The same went infinitely so for him. “So I’m thinking the odds are on your side here. Plus, save some of those cookies for Briticus and let him know to put Verenda on the list for next week.”

“Sure,” Donar offered. “You two take some time. I’m going to see if, uh, Chadara will answer. Or maybe, just rub this shit in Rhaskos’s dinky face.” He swept his arms wide for another hug which whipped Nasir up from the ground too briefly for any of the hacks to give them shit. “Good seeing you, Pixie, and hopefully it won’t be much longer.”

Nasir patted his shoulder. “Right.” He prayed Spartacus’s plan went through before the Feds pushed up the trial date.

Donar issued Agron a cheeky salute, earning a solo finger response before he strode off, eyeing the dick CO as he went. Then it was just the two of them, the rest of the room blocked out and muted under the weight of them being together again.

There were things to discuss and gulfs full of problems as wide as the Grand Canyon to be avoided. So where would they start? Nasir would like to avoid talking about Crixus’s memorial or Naevia’s increasing silence or how Spartacus was trying to squash the Rico case and all the other shit Agent Crassus was throwing at them.

Agron scrubbed his hand through his hair. Like Nasir, he’d gotten a trim—short and harsh, putting his widow’s peak on prime display and making him look somehow wilder despite his confinement. His man, always a wolf, even while caged.

So Agron started with his brother.  “How’s Duro dealing? I mean, he wouldn’t talk to me the last couple of times I called, so. Figured he might ‘ve been tired and I didn’t want to you to bother him.”

Nasir knew being locked up was harder on Agron. The last time he’d been in, doing a fifteen month stretch, Duro had been with him. Now, he wasn’t alone but he certainly wasn’t protecting or caring for his brother who genuinely needed him. Nasir had Duro well in hand.

Duro had taken Agron’s arrest hard. Had been more pissed that Agron had allowed himself to be set up for the fire at the old Batitatus warehouse in the first place than anything else. “He said you’re an asshole and he’s going to sweep me off my feet.” As his brother, Duro knew where to hit Agron the most and threatening to take Nasir, whether joking or otherwise, always stuck in Agron’s craw.

Agron rolled his eyes. “I’d like to see him try.” A series of emotions flickered across his face, too quick to catch anything other than the polar extremes of fury, anger, and sharp edges of guilt. “Oh, Bruder, “he sighed, “He sounded better when I did talk to him. Stronger, y’know?”

Nasir just nodded silently. Agron’s will was powerful. It was why when he fought he never lost, never doubted Spartacus’s plan for the future of the club, nor doubted that Duro would survive his accident. He’s been right on all accounts; Duro had survived but he wouldn’t get any better. C-4 fractures could be stabilized but they couldn’t be fixed.

Admittedly, Duro was better, now just as funny and bright as before. Though his words became a struggle to string together if he tried to be too much like his old self by running his mouth. “He can focus better now, started to remember some things. Told me that you owed me the real story behind your dred phase.”

Agron scoffed, already dismissing the idea. “He’s one to talk. At least, I know I looked good.” Which was not what Nasir thought after seeing those old pictures.

“Really, didja really, Agron?”

“Harsh, babe.” Agron gestured at Nasir’s eyes again. “You’re working too hard. I can see it.”

Ducking his head, Nasir murmured softly, “ I’m just doing what I have to.”

“If it’s money, talk to Spartacus--” Spartacus had already talked to him and Nasir hadn’t needed anything other than getting Agron out of regional lockup.

Nasir silenced Agron with a firm shake of his head. It wasn’t money. Before he’d met Agron, he’d been living hand to mouth and running ragged, splitting his time between school, Camila’s, his odd jobs at Arena, and part-timing it as a CNA at the Vesivus Gardens Retirement Village.

After he met Agron, fortune had finally looked his way, finally having his degree in hand and better paying jobs at the ready once he became a registered nurse. Any nights he spent at Arena were for emergency calls only, girls—friends of his mostly, needing help prepping for a gig or cleaning up after gigs gone wrong. Then Camila’s where he helped bus tables and worked the prep line because it gave him a chance to spend time with the mosaic family he’d been lucky enough to be tossed into at seventeen. The only family as a kid where he didn’t have to think two steps ahead of his foster siblings or his fosters parents to try to make himself three times as indispensable.

Camila, Chadara, Belesa, and Zenobia had given him a reason to stay in Cap City.

Finding Agron made Nasir finally desire to live in it.

“It’s not money,” Nasir replied. Spartacus always made sure Nasir got Agron’s cut from the business and always sent a share for Duro as he was owed for his sacrifice for the Brotherhood. “Things are just hard. Spartacus is working on something to get you all out.  But the Feds are still circling—harassing some of the brothers and the girls--”

Agron gritted his teeth, his green eyes going dark at the thought. “If anyone comes at you--”

“Agron, please, I’m fine…It’s just,” Nasir exhaled tiredly, “They’re not the only ones. Some of the old families are trying to pick up things again and it doesn’t help that some of the other clubs are trying to test Cap City out.” Though he loathed uttering his next thought, Nasir had to give Agron real dark possibilities. “It’s like they smell blood in the water.”

Agron whipped his head about in denial and shoved his hands under the table violently to avoid grasping at Nasir like he wanted. He loved his club. Lived, breathed, and bled for the Brotherhood of Blood. Had it inked on his skin for eternity to cement his belief in their way of life and the path that Spartacus was set to lead them.  “The Brotherhood can’t die. Won’t die,” Agron vowed, attempting to convince Nasir, though it sounded like affirmation that Agron desperately needed.

 _But it could be broken_ , Nasir thought. _All things can be broken_.

 They didn’t linger in silence for long. After months apart and indeterminate amount to come, they knew their time was precious.  Agron knotted his arms across his chest. “How’s Naevia?”

Now Nasir sighed. His heart continuously broke for her and Crixus. “She’s quiet, sad…” Nasir listed off. “I check on her every day and she lets me drive her to her appointments.”

“Does she know what she’s having yet?” Agron asked. Her baby would be the most well protected baby in all of Cap City.

Naevia had declined to know, despite his curiosity and tempered excitement, Nasir hadn’t pressed her. “Not yet. Probably won’t until it decides to get here.” Somehow Crixus had found the time to start setting up a nursery; the room was as of yet unfinished, frozen in a partially realized scheme of soft colors and plush jungle-scape and would remain that way until Naevia decided otherwise. He’d already decided to help with whatever she needed, as had Spartacus who visited almost as much as Nasir.

“Let’s hope it looks like her.” Agron half-heartedly joked.

Agron and Crixus had always butted heads, yet within that last year, they’d found some common ground and had started to act more like brothers than loosely affiliated enemies. Their friendship hadn’t faltered in the face of Crixus forming a new charter and trying to patch over members of the Cap Crew. Agron hadn’t begrudged his desire to leave or even him passing his VP patch to Gannicus.

Nasir was the only one who knew that despite his love for Spartacus and his position as Sergeant-at-Arms for the Cap Crew, Agron had considered moving on with Crixus and Nasir would have moved on with him.

“I can’t stop thinking about _it_ , not when I look at Naevia or see _his_ truck at the compound.” Riddled with bullets that had missed Naevia as she crouched down next to the bench seat but had cut Crixus down as he’d crossed a parking lot with grocery bags in hand to get back to her. “For her to see him like that and then to lose you after…”

Over the table, Agron leaned forward, back almost bowed in half to bring him low and close and as private as they could manage, vibrating with tension, he began to swear. “I’m here, Babe. I’m not going anywhere despite what those dirty fucks might want.” Hadn’t Barca thought the same thing before he’d gotten a dirty deal and ended up in San Quentin?

Agron continued, ignorant of Nasir’s worries. “I’ve got my brothers at my back and stay sharp every day that I wake up in this hellhole. I’m the ‘Wolf’, remember?” Agron had built a legend when he stepped inside of a cage, lived up to his last name—Wulf—by savaging guys like a feral dog. “No one can put me down…unless it’s you.”

Nasir oscillated from relief that Agron’s spirits were still high to worry that Agron actually believed his own hype.

They’d gone through a rough patch during the spring where Agron had waffled between trying to give Nasir an out from their relationship to flying off into jealous rages, convinced every look or touch from any man other than him or Duro was an attempt to steal Nasir away. Castus hanging around the diner after negotiations with Spartacus hadn’t put Agron at ease. Beating up a sailor, even a dirty one like Castus, hadn’t been exposure the Brotherhood needed.  Spartacus had told Agron in his signature earnest, steely tone to “handle your shit or take a long ride,” and Agron had been forced to listen and see sense, not for lack of Nasir’s trying.

Now Nasir quietly whispered a promise. “I’m not going anywhere. You’re the one that forgets what _forever by your side_ means.” Nasir had lived through too much by the time he’d met Agron. Yet, it was the chemistry between them that kept them together and proclaimed there would never be anyone else.

He’d barely been nineteen a week when he followed Naevia to the compound. The club was in her blood; her uncle and aunt who’d raised her were the best parts of its crooked foundation and had raised her in its shadow. Everyone in Capua City knew of the Brotherhood of Blood, had seen the black vests with the black on red patches—Capua City, California—and the screaming skull with double swords skewered through its crown,  or the gleaming chrome of bikes and clean paint on classic cars low-riding down Main Street.

He remembered taking in the motley crew of fierce looking guys and a few hawkeyed women in their leather and chains partying within the circle of big bikes and a towering bonfire, blazing high enough to satisfy even the most vicious of pagan gods.

Nasir had turned his head only to see Agron striding towards him two beers in hand, cutting a dark and imposing figure decked in all black from woolen skull cap, tight tank, jeans, and his cut that put the swirling mass of ink on his shoulder and bicep on display. Nasir had taken the drink not knowing what to expect and passed the night in conversation, mesmerized by big dimples and giving a tentative promise that he’d let Agron take him out on his bike sometime.

 “I think about the night of the Fourth, like every night,” Admitted Agron, licking his lips. “Can’t stop. Don’t wanna stop, even if I could.”

Nasir wasn’t going to make a promise about when Agron got out. Wouldn’t promise that they’d use every inch of their giant bed and dirty all the sheets in the house. Just replied softly, “Me too.”

 Every night, his dreams started the same way and ended with the chill of a bed too cold and too big for just him. He missed Agron, all of him, rancid smell of his cigarettes and plucky twang of his guitar included.

“When I come home…things will be different. They’ll be better.” Agron’s promise was an earnest hope, because the life they lived came with no guarantees.

His green eyes promised nights like the Fourth of July, full of long rides in the Impala followed by sure footsteps in the dark until they found their bed. Kisses coursing up and down his neck until they captured his lips, nipping and pulling to have their way, getting the full taste of Nasir—his skin, his tongue, his mouth; every part of him open to Agron’s touch. They’d hit the bed free of heavy clothes; Agron’s arm clutched around him anchoring him close while the other slid up the bottom of his briefs to cup his cheeks and spread him open. To be full again after being empty for so long, so cold without the heat of Agron’s mouth, fingers, and his cock. Nasir ached for it.

Nasir’s cheeks burned hot, earning him a sly grin from Agron who easily telegraphed his thoughts. “Things will already be better when you can come home.” He hoped.

The hack at the door called, “Time’s up, say your goodbyes and proceed to your respective processing lines.” They rose stiffly from the table, neither ready nor willing to be parted again. They moved around the edge of the table to stand toe to toe.

Agron pulled Nasir deep into his chest, close enough to smell the lingering scents of fresh air and antiseptic in his hair. He dropped a fleeting peck to Nasir’s hair which was much more than he should have reasonably allowed in the place. Nasir tried to siphon the warmth of his skin through the layers of heavy cotton.

Nasir breathed into his chest. “Don’t do _this_ again. I want to see you. Need to see you, Agron.”

“Okay,” Agron agreed. “Tell Duro, I love ‘em and to keep his hands to himself.”

The groups began to shuffle off to their respective doors, moving past the knot of limbs that Agron and Nasir were still joined in. Nasir missed Agron’s hands on him, curving around the back of his neck, across his chest, and over his hips. Again, he prayed that Spartacus found a way out of this. For all their sakes.

Agron squeezed him tightly once more then let him go. He stared down at Nasir with such longing that his gaze burned through Nasir’s core. “Heaven and hell couldn’t keep you from me, Nasir. Bars don’t stand a chance.” He growled, fighting the instinct to touch. If he started now, he’d have to be dragged away.

Trying to bolster his spirits, Nasir nodded and said, “Let them try,” as Agron was forced to join the line.

This was their life and the sacrifices that they made to preserve it. Nasir would hold all Agron’s promises close to heart and let his own heart be as open as the road that Agron was always meant to travel. All roads led home, so Nasir could wait until Agron found his way back.  


End file.
